


Man-made god

by Kitexa



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Internal Conflict, Introspection, mentioned Clark/Lois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6362839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitexa/pseuds/Kitexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hero, weapon, god among men... who is he really, to this world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man-made god

They swarm the courthouse like a virus. Barbed tongues spewing a verdict echoed in their clothing. On their faces. Some carry signs. _You don’t belong here. You’re not one of us. We didn’t want a hero._

_They never do by choice._

 In between the masses hover pockets of primary-clad joy. “We’re with you all the way” they cry, waving their fists like some kind of pep-rally. So long as they’re safe on the sidelines. When the whistle blows, only one will descend across the field. Only one will stare the opposition down. That’s the way it ought to be, the way it should be. He’s a one-man team thrown in play again and again.

_Even the best players slip up from time to time._

He should have seen this coming. Athletes on their own are held to godly standards. For a god himself, they have no mercy. Their words, not his. Hero, angel, ancient among men… he’s only ever tried to do them right. Reach when they cry out to him and be that saving grace.

Atlas didn’t ask to bare the Earth.  Yet here he was, condemned for his decisions, just like the myths of old.

_Atlas sided with destruction. What is it you stand for?_

Muscles flex along his jaw. He swallows, eyes fixed forward. A pain he’s unaccustomed to swells beside each temple. Nonetheless, he continues climbing. ‘ _This means something to people._ ’ Lois told him, tracing his embroidered chest. _‘You mean something to them.’_ Those fleeting voices in the crowds, encouraging him on. The ones who tried to drown them out with biting jeers. _What is it, then?_ He’d nearly countered, searching her face. If only she were with him now, perhaps he’d have his answer.

But no, the Man of Steel, as he’s been dubbed, has steeled himself once more. Come to those who seek him out, prepared to fight, if needed. _What is it I mean to them?_ Passing by a guard, he nods, a knot between his brows. Did this man here find him a threat? No different from criminals ushered in and out these doors?

_Th-thump. Th-thump._

He hesitates mid-step.

_Th-thump th-thump th-thump._

Something cold bites his stomach.

“Everything alright, Superman?”

“...I…” he blinks, turning towards the voice. On his left, a guard he’d previously not noticed meets his eyes. “… yes.” He lies, and were it any other place or time, he’d kick himself for it. Truth was the simplest form of trust.  Present yourself up front, there lay little room for miscommunication.

_In theory, anyway._

 “I’m fine,” he concludes suddenly, forcing a small smile. His chest hurts now, along with the headache. Honesty in all ways, unless it put the ones you loved in danger.

He’d never once lied to protect himself.

“Alright…” The guard replies, and he’s off once again, cape swishing behind him. Heartbeats that aren’t his own echo his steps, slowing as he enters the belly of the hall.  The hardest truths, it seemed, remained unspoken.

In their minds, they feared the outsider. The god. The _alien creature_ from a world long-destroyed...

A slight intake of breath, bypassing an urge to pinch the sides of his head.  “ _You don’t belong here. You’re not one of us. We didn’t want a hero.”_

He didn’t ask to be one.

Halting by the double doors, every bustle and click of his trial-in-waiting grates against his pounding head. He didn’t ask for these abilities, hell, he hadn’t asked to fall to Earth.

_You could run away, you know. There’s still time._

No. There wasn’t.

They decided for him now. Tore apart the heavens on his shoulders, picking and choosing who to save and sacrifice. _A weapon,_ whispers a fleeting thought, built on dreams of a brighter tomorrow. Like all dreams backed by firepower, eventually, they withered away. Crushed by reality’s cruel palm and banished to history’s archives.

Is that all he stood for, then?

_Am I just a weapon?_

Reflexively, his hands ball fists, falling slack a moment later. Straightening, he sighs and at last, enters the courtroom.   _I am more than a weapon._ He’d come here to prove it. Arsenal of powers or not, Clark Kent was, at his core, a man. A man answering the call of pending accusation. A man who would, if required, fight to keep his voice afloat.

**Author's Note:**

> I may have messed up the chronology. Forgive me, I just had a lot of sad Clark feels...


End file.
